


giving, going, gone

by rohpsohpic



Series: you don't need the whole story (to know how it ends) [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Ambiguous Relationships, Angst, Drinking, Drunk Dialing, Late Night Conversations, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Post-Break Up, Swearing, a little swearing, but is it mutual?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-10 15:17:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15294294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rohpsohpic/pseuds/rohpsohpic
Summary: “I didn’t mean to call,” Jun mumbles from the back seat of Wonwoo’s car.“I know.”





	giving, going, gone

**Author's Note:**

> vague yet specific angst in the middle of the night  
> or maybe it's just vague

“I didn’t mean to call,” Jun mumbles from the back seat of Wonwoo’s car.

“I know.”

The acceptant way that Wonwoo sighs makes Jun want to bury his head in his polyester cushions and never come out. It’s bad enough that of all the people in the world, Jun called on Wonwoo to pick up his drunk, stranded ass from some bar in Incheon. The fact that Wonwoo doesn’t sound remotely surprised by Jun’s behavior—the fact that Wonwoo doesn’t even seem bothered—the fact that Wonwoo didn’t even ask for details before saying “Give me half an hour. Stay inside.” and showing up in a record twenty minutes—the fact that Wonwoo is actually picking up Jun’s drunk, stranded ass right here, right now, no questions asked, somehow makes Jun feel even worse.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Jun says when things fall silent again.

Wonwoo doesn’t respond.

Between the silhouetted front seats, Jun sees Wonwoo’s arm on the steering wheel. His grip is steady to the untrained eye, but Jun can see the stiffness that hadn’t always been there: the sleeve of his sweater covering his arm instead of being rolled up; the clinical glances through the rear view mirror, careful never to look down where Jun is sitting; the whiteness of his smooth knuckles.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. Just be glad you didn’t call Seungcheol. He would have thrown a fit.”

“Why?” Jun asks, raising his head at the longest line he’s heard from Wonwoo all night. “Seungcheol drinks all the time.”

Jun immediately wants to slam his mouth shut, realizing the implications of that statement. He has always had a problem with filtering his words even when he isn’t drunk. Right now, he feels like he’s both too drunk and not drunk enough for this conversation.

“Exactly,” Wonwoo says, his eyes trained on the cars ahead of them. His foxlike eyes are sharp in the glimpse Jun catches through the rear view mirror, even from the side. Wonwoo makes a turn signal, and Jun tries to focus on the gentle ticking noises as they wait for the light to change. “He would have been offended that you didn’t invite him along.”

“I’ll call him next time,” Jun promises.

The light changes. Jun goes quiet as Wonwoo makes the turn, not wanting to distract him.

After the turn, Jun adds softly, “I didn’t mean it like that, either.”

“I know.”

“I don’t know what’s up with me tonight,” Jun laments. “One moment, I’m getting off the plane. The next, I’m drunk off my ass and—”

Jun is struck by a revelation that makes him groan for an entirely different reason. Wonwoo spares a glance through the rear view mirror, and for the first time, it’s not at the cars behind him. But it’s barely a millisecond, barely eye contact at all, and Wonwoo looks away first. Jun is drunk enough, at least, to continue with his revelation despite the hurt.

“My luggage,” he says and clutches his head in his hands. How did he not notice earlier? “I haven’t seen it since I entered the bar.”

“Should I turn back?”

Jun is startled by the genuine offer. Sometimes, even he forgets how generous Wonwoo can really be. Something other than the alcohol churns uncomfortably in his stomach. A week ago, Jun would have been made unquestionably happy by the caring tone of Wonwoo’s voice, the way that Wonwoo so casually offers to give Jun anything he wants. A week ago, Jun wouldn’t have thought twice. Now the same voice only serves as a reminder.

He tries to find Wonwoo’s eyes in the rear view mirror again, but Wonwoo is checking the wing mirrors and making another turn. That moment is gone.

“No,” Jun says, finally. He leans back into the seat. Somehow, he feels like he’s talking about more than the luggage and the rear view mirror when he says, “It’s gone.”

Wonwoo drives. Wonwoo has always been a focused driver. Jun never found the silence stifling before.

Before.

Even drunk, part of Jun wants to escape this strange brand of silence that has settled over them this past week. It’s the same silence that followed him on his international flight, when he picked up two snacks every time an attendant came around with a cart, forgetting that there was no Wonwoo sitting next to him in wait of the extra. He smacks his dry lips and wracks his mind for something to say. His thoughts on Wonwoo haven’t been that clear as of late, even when he’s sober. He wouldn’t say that he’s buzzed right now, per say, more like detached from his body. It’s like Conscious Jun has separated from Body Jun and Thinking Jun, and he’s floating in some weird plane of existence, watching the scene in Wonwoo’s car play out from the outside.

It makes things easier. It makes things harder.

He wants to say “How are you?”, he wants to say a million things that two hours isn’t nearly enough for, but it somehow turns into “How did you get here?”

“I drove,” Wonwoo says.

It’s his way of joking, and maybe if Jun was entirely in the moment, he would have laughed. It’s exactly the kind of deadpan humor that he has been missing these past few days. The kind that comes from Wonwoo.

Maybe that’s why he doesn’t laugh. He’s too busy missing it.

“No, I mean, your apartment is two hours away,” Jun protests. Wonwoo knows. “How’d you get here so fast?”

“I was in the area,” Wonwoo says. The flatness in his voice is suddenly cold. This is a topic he’s shutting down.

Jun shuts his mouth.

It takes another painfully slow block, one that’s lined with bright, busy stores that cause traffic to slow to a crawl and Jun’s vision to turn into a confusing blur, for him to open his mouth again.

“Where are we going?” he asks, and his voice sounds so incredibly meek to his own ears that he shuts his eyes. For a moment, the blotchy afterimages dance behind his eyelids. Then they’re gone, and relief washes over him when the lights stop.

“Well, obviously, it’s not to get your luggage,” Wonwoo says, and this actually does coax a wry smile out of Jun.

“You’ve still got your humor.”

“I’ve still got a lot of things,” Wonwoo echoes back, and somehow, Jun gets the feeling that Wonwoo is talking about more than his humor, too. Jun keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to check the rear view mirror again in case Wonwoo isn’t going to be looking back. His head is swimming. As if on cue, Wonwoo asks, “You’re not going to throw up, are you?”

“No,” Jun lies.

Wonwoo waits.

“Yes,” Jun truths.

“The plastic bags are under the seat.”

Jun fumbles around and finds them as directed. Wonwoo is respectfully silent as Jun dry heaves his guts out. Or maybe his heart.

Eventually, Jun closes the bag and holds it in a loose ball, leaning against the seat and panting. “False alarm.” There’s a sheen of sweat on his skin that makes him want to spout a thousand apologies to Wonwoo’s car, but the plastic bag remains empty. Nothing. “Maybe I’m too drunk to vomit. Is that a thing?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

This time, after the silence, as Jun waits for the pressure in his head to go away and Wonwoo gives him his space, it’s Wonwoo who tentatively breaks the silence.

“Jun . . . are you okay?”

“My favorite T-shirt was in my luggage,” Jun moans. He doesn’t know why that, of all things, is what pops into his brain right now. He really needs to reevaluate his priorities. “I was going to wear it tomorrow.”

Wonwoo doesn’t ask why. Jun wonders if Wonwoo is scared to find out, too.

“You can borrow mine.”

“Your favorite?”

Jun can almost hear the exasperated smile in Wonwoo’s voice. Lie. He could hear it from a kilometer away.

“If it makes you feel any better.”

“My candy was in my luggage, too.”

“I’m not buying your gummies back, Jun,” Wonwoo says.

A kilometer away.

If he can get past his slowly abating headache and the dry plastic bag in his hand, Jun can almost pretend that it’s another normal night between them. Jun and Wonwoo, out for a midnight ride. Sitting in the front seat instead of the back. Visiting every too-bright store. Incheon to Seoul to Incheon and back and back again. But even the alcohol isn’t enough to fool him.

Wonwoo seems to sense Jun’s change in mood.

“You can crash at our apartment for the night, and I’ll drive you back in the morning. Seungcheol wouldn’t mind.”

It takes Jun a breath-robbing moment to realize that Wonwoo’s “our” no longer includes a “Jun” in it. It’s a short wake-up call, but it’s long enough for Jun to weigh his options rationally. It feels like a forever has passed inside the car, but Wonwoo’s apartment is still an hour and a half away at least. There’s no way he’s keeping Wonwoo up past 2 AM, and there’s no way he’s going to keep himself up that long, either.

And there’s no way he can enter the apartment knowing that he no longer has any claim to it. It’s a lost privilege that he has to learn to let go of.

“No,” he says, “my apartment’s closer.” Because it is.

“Oh. Okay,” Wonwoo says, and it doesn’t take sobriety for Jun to catch the disappointment in his voice. Wonwoo pauses and takes a breath to clear his throat. “I would just feel better if I knew you would be okay.”

“You could stay over.”

The magnitude of these words that Jun thoughtlessly blurted doesn’t hit him until he notices Wonwoo’s silence, heavier than the rest.

Stifling.

“Jun . . .” Wonwoo warns unsteadily. Uncertainly.

“Seungcheol wouldn’t mind,” Jun whispers. Echoes.

The vacuum inside the car is deafening. There’s a tug-of-war brewing somewhere under the surface, and Jun doesn’t know what outcome he’s hoping for at this point. Jun doesn’t know if he’s hoping for any outcome at all. Maybe right now, the best thing he can do is let them both go to sleep in their apartments on opposite sides of the city. He has already asked more of Wonwoo than he should have to begin with.

In the end, he does them both a favor, shifting in his seat and letting his head settle against the headrest. Letting the plastic bag drop.

Just loud enough for Wonwoo to hear, he says, “No, no, let’s not. Forget I brought it up. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve mentioned.”

Wonwoo’s words are short, but it doesn’t take Jun, Jun who has been with him for more years than he can count on one hand, to hear the way his voice threatens to crack. Jun glances into the rear view mirror at the same time that Wonwoo does.

Once upon a time, this would have been Jun’s eternity.

Someone honks behind them.

“You should probably get that,” Jun says.

“I probably should,” Wonwoo says back.

And this moment, too, is gone.


End file.
